Fall away
by Dysperdis
Summary: Snape reflects on his relationship with Harry. Written for the Sticks 'n Strings music prompt fic fest, for the prompt "Break Me Down" by Alter Bridge


**Title:** Fall Away

**Pairing/Characters:** Snape/Harry

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Snape reflects on his relationship with Harry.

**Word count:** 1221

**Disclaimer: ** Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.

**Author's notes:** About halfway through this, my muse decided that a short vacation was in order . I had originally pictured this as being a much longer fic, but...

I know how this argument will end. They always end the same way- I apologize (and oh, how it grates on me to do so!) and he... well, he's never been able to give up on what might be.

So, of course, he has to go and change the routine.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"You're always sorry," he says.

And then he walks out the door.

* * *

Our relationship has never been what one might consider "normal." While many couples will share inane stories of love at first sight and other such romantic claptrap, our story began with seven years of hatred. An inauspicious beginning to any relationship, yet who can expect anything so normal as "love at first sight" when dealing with the Saviour of the Wizarding World?

After my supposed demise at the hands- or rather fangs- of Voldemort's pet, I was free. It took very little time to relocate myself, using the identity I had set up in case I managed to survive the entire mess. Naively, I had assumed that the populace at large would be happy to leave me dead, but I failed to count on the sheer tenacity of Potter. He managed to track me down, very nearly drawing the whole of Britain to my doorstep despite his attempts at discretion.

No matter what I did, I could not stop him from returning every day, always with that same insipid smile, and usually bearing some sort of food or drink. When I asked him what he wished to gain from his attempts, he would merely smile and offer some remark about desiring my company.

* * *

The house is quiet. Far too quiet for my peace of mind. Any second now, I expect him to walk through the door, his temper having cooled. Yet, as I watch the minutes and hours slip away, I am beginning to feel uneasy. I pour myself another scotch, eyeing the level in the bottle. I will surely be feeling the consequences of my excess tomorrow, but at the moment, I can't bring myself to care.

* * *

The first time he kissed me, I responded with a well-aimed hex. The second time, I reached for my wand, only to find that it as gone. The third time, I kissed him. After all, there was no reason to let him have the upper hand, and I must admit, the look on his face was rather pleasing. Knowing that I was the one who put that look there was exhilarating in a way I cannot describe, for I've got nothing else to compare it to.

* * *

The Scotch is gone. Harry's gone. I feel strange. I try to imagine what life would be like in my little cottage without his presence, but I am unable to picture it. Strange, really, given the amount of time I have lived alone.

* * *

The first time we made love- but no, there was no love there. The first time we fucked was just after Harry broke up with the Weasley girl. I took almost as much pleasure from knowing that the perfect little future he had planned with her had fallen apart as I did from my own orgasm. The Germans have a word for this. They call it schadenfreude, that pleasure gained from seeing the misery of others. I'm very familiar with the concept.

In any case, the first time we had sex was vicious, violent, and earth-shattering. It wasn't about us- it was about release. I had been taunting him about his failed future when he shoved me against the wall. I expected to feel his fists on my flesh, so imagine my surprise when instead, I felt his lips and teeth and tongue. I bore scratches from that encounter for a week. Harry spent the next two days limping slightly; I did not offer to heal him, and he didn't ask.

_I've been absolutely horrible to him. Why should he come back?_ The thought is enough to cut through the bottle of scotch I've consumed, but not enough to keep me from hoping that he'll step through the door. The fire is going out now, but I'll sit here and wait a little longer.

He had been working to clear my name since the night Voldemort died. He moved in as soon as I was declared innocent of all wrong-doings. He wanted to tell the world of our relationship. I wanted nothing less than absolute privacy, the kind which could not possibly exist if it were known that I was alive and fucking the saviour on a daily basis. I promised that, once things had settled, we could begin to share the news, though of course, I had no intention of keeping such a promise.

It didn't stop me from being jealous, though, whenever one of his friends tried to pair him up. I wouldn't let him tell them why he couldn't date, but his sense of honour wouldn't let him date another when he was committed to me. It's the way of our relationship- I would demand everything of him, and in exchange... well, I'm still not sure what he got in exchange. My companionship? But why would he want that? I'm not a nice man, nor a generous one, so what could he possibly want from me?

I first realized I was in love with him after waking up with a pounding headache, the empty scotch bottle lying on the floor beside my chair. I sit up, wincing at the wave of pain that goes through my head, and feeling rather nauseous.

He's still not home.

I stagger off to find a headache potion, then begin my morning ablutions. Partway through, I hear the door open, and know that he's returned.

I spit out the mouthful of toothpaste and make my way to the kitchen, where I know I'll find him. I discover him sitting at the table, looking lost.

I open my mouth to speak, but he interrupts me.

"I've got nowhere else to go..."

The magnitude of his situation hits me. He has cut himself off from his friends, those he considered his family. I knew this, intellectually, but to hear it like this...

He has no way to escape. The thought should fill me with glee, but instead, I'm angry. Angry at myself, for my many abuses, angry at his friends for abandoning him, and angry at him for letting all of this happen.

"So, the golden boy's friends aren't so loyal after all, then?" I almost cringe as the words come out of my mouth and I see the pained expression on his face.

"I shouldn't have come back."

_No, you shouldn't have._

I hadn't realized I had spoken out loud until I hear his response.

"So, you don't want me here anymore, then?"

I sighed. "I never said that."

I walk back to the loo to finish my ablutions. He doesn't get it now, but he will soon enough.

I'm an old man, set in my ways. I can't- won't- change that. I'm not a pleasant person. I know that some day, Harry will leave and not return. But in the meantime, I'll continue to break him down. And, when the time comes, I will let him fall.


End file.
